


Another Place, Another Time

by Snafu1000



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-11-21 22:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11366958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snafu1000/pseuds/Snafu1000
Summary: Erin Shepard. Talia Cousland. Alistair Theirin. A resurrected Spectre and her two best friends are trying to save the galaxy, but a side mission to take on the Shadow Broker complicates the hell out of the life of one grouchy grunt who just wants to keep things simple. An AU fusion of my two favorite game worlds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely AU, not exactly a crossover. As usual, more discussion at the end for those that are interested.

The Shadow Broker went down. Hard.

Talia didn't give a shit. She kept unloading round after round from the M-22 Eviscerator into the twitching hulk of the yahg, advancing step by step until she was at point blank range, ignoring the growing warmth in her hands as she pushed the limits of the heat sinks. The bastard had already eaten enough ordinance to bring down a cruiser, but that wasn't the only reason she kept firing, wasn't the only reason for the red haze of rage that touched the vision in her right eye, the pounding of her pulse in her temples or the strong urge to look up the native planet of a species she'd never heard of until fifteen minutes ago and nuke it to a glowing cinder.

This particular bucket of fugly had tried to sell her best friend's corpse to the Collectors – and evidently by extension to the Reapers, had tried to murder said best friend's girl, brought them to this fucking backwater of a planet on a clusterfuck of a mission that had her hanging ass off this POS ship over the mother of all thunderstorms, sniping mechs and mercs while dodging stray lightning bolts. She was bruised to hell and back, had a split in her forehead that had gummed up the lashes on her right eye, and the distant thrum of pain beneath the flood of adrenaline announced that she'd busted a few ribs getting slammed around in the final fight. Taken together, it was more than enough reason to want the fucker to get back up so that she could take him down again.

And it was the _only_ reason, damn it.

A hand fell on her arm, squeezing lightly. "T.C., ease up." Erin. The only one who ever called her that. "He's dead, chica. Ease up." Her voice was as calm as ever, cutting through the haze like a hot knife through butter.

"Not dead enough," Talia snarled, but she let off of the trigger, head turning to search every nook, cranny and shadow of the room, ignoring the sparks of pain as minute contractions of the periorbital muscles shifted the visual display from thermal to infrared, cycling back and forth, seeking anyone else in need of killing. The Alliance had offered her a cosmetic cybernetic implant that would have been indistinguishable from her other eye, but the eyepatch facade had allowed the use of a far more extensive array. It was pushing the limits; they'd warned her about that, warned her about the pain, but when she'd given the go-ahead anyway, they'd done it, and it had been more than worth it. In addition to the thermal/IR scanning, her left 'eye' now had 20x magnification optics with range-finding capabilities and the ability to calculate wind speed and direction, elevation and atmospheric density, all of it linked by transponder to her Black Widow, allowing her to nail a batarian between his eyes at two-plus klicks. Plus, the eyepatch looked badass.

Besides, compared to the fucking batarians popping the original model out of the socket with the equivalent of a rusty spoon, the present sensations barely qualified as discomfort.

"All clear," she reported at last, shifting back to standard optics and turning to Commander Erin Shepard: best friend, fellow badass, so-called 'Butcher of Torfan', erstwhile Savior of the Citadel and modern-day Lazarus. She tipped her head toward the dead yahg. "Mission accomplished?"

Green eyes searched her face, but Talia kept her own expression passive, and Shepard finally gave in. "Looks that way," she agreed, one shoulder tipping up in a slight shrug. She knew Talia well enough not to push.

A sudden cacophony of noise shattered the eerie silence that had fallen over the chamber with the cessation of gunfire, explosions and colliding bodies: the massive communications console returning to life after the power flux that Liara's biotic endgame had caused. Better than a score of voices from operatives all over the galaxy clamored together, all of them asking a variant of the same question:

_What the_ _**fuck** _ _is going on?_

Liara T'soni, shy archaeologist turned badass information broker, had been standing, staring at the Shadow Broker in disbelief. This was her mission, her idea. Shep had dealt herself in because she loved the asari; Talia had dealt herself in because Erin was one of her two best friends, and because she owed the asari. Liara was the reason that one of her two best friends was not a charred corpse in the hands of the Collectors, which meant that Talia was down with whatever she needed done.

She lifted her head now, blue eyes taking in the flashing lights and glowing monitors of the console for a long minute before moving to stand in front of it. They had just taken down the most powerful information broker in the galaxy, so a bit of gloating to his lackeys definitely seemed in order, but when she activated the microphone, her first words were _not_ "Just pwned your boss. Have a nice day!".

"This is the Shadow Broker." Her own voice in the room was almost lost beneath the voice from the speakers, the distortion algorithms making it sound just like it had when the yahg had been the one doing the broadcasting.

What the fuck _was_ going on?

"Shep?" Talia glanced warily from Liara to Erin, hoping for some enlightenment, but the Spectre looked as stunned as she felt. The asari had changed over the previous two years – fuck, they all had, but while the increase in the badassery quotient had worried Shepard, Talia had generally approved; the girl was a biotic powerhouse … might as well have an attitude to match, right? If her stated reasons for this mission had been a lie, however, if she'd just used Erin to topple a rival and claim an empire … well, gratitude only went so far, and Talia let her finger return to the trigger of the shotgun, the pressure just shy of firing. If it turned into a twofer day on Shadow Brokers, so be it.

"Wait." The one word was enough to put her on standby, watching as Shepard approached Liara. The asari might be an unknown quantity, but Talia had followed Erin Shepard on a dozen different tours of hell, including the hunt for Saren, and trusting her was not even a question that needed to be asked. Liara kept talking, explaining away the down time as the result of a systems upgrade, setting up deadlines for status reports. Becoming the goddamn Shadow Broker.

_Fuck, Shep, I hope you know what you're doing._ Not that having the Shadow Broker on their side would be a bad thing, as long as she _was_ on their side, but -

The sound of footsteps in the hall they'd come in through had Talia at the door just as it slid open. She saw the pistol first and reacted fast, letting the shotgun go, her right hand shooting out to catch the thin wrist, fingers digging into tendon and nerve to make the hand holding the pistol release it. The cybernetics that made up most of her left arm included an integrated omni-tool, and a flick of that wrist forged a silicon-carbide blade: razor sharp and white hot. Before she could drive the blade into the chest of her target, however, her focus shifted from the empty hand up the arm, and Lieutenant Commander Talia Cousland, Systems Alliance N7 marine, found herself staring into the wild blue eyes of the redhead that was the purported reason for this clusterfuck of a mission in the first place.

_Shit._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Six Years Earlier: 2179 CE, Arcturus Station** _

"Buy a girl a drink?"

Talia glanced sideways at the redhead who had slid onto the barstool next to her. Easy enough on the eyes, but - "I'll pass." Not why she was here tonight.

"I could buy you one instead?"

Talia glanced back, trying to decide if the winsome smile was enticing enough to bother. "Got one," she replied, lifting her mug. And you didn't chug a perfectly mixed Black and Tan, thank you.

"The next round, then?" the redhead persisted.

Mild interest was shifting to mild annoyance. "Why?" she asked bluntly.

"Drinking alone is no fun."

"I'm not drinking alone." Shep and Alistair were on the dance floor with their partners of the moment, but it was way too early in the evening for either of them to be hooking up. They'd be back for another round in a song or two. Another night, Talia might be out there with them, but tonight, she was in the mood to sit and drink good beer. She'd already turned down a couple of offers for drinks or a dance.

"I am."

Talia regarded her with an upraised eyebrow. The pout was plainly intended to be more cute than mournful. "I can see a dozen warm bodies who would be happy to cure that for you," she observed. "Why me?"

"Because you are the most interesting person in the room."

The sincere warmth in the redhead's voice had the needle on the bullshit meter bouncing. "Got a thing for scars, do you?" Talia inquired, taking a sip from her mug. She'd never made any real attempt to hide them, though the eyepatch facade over the implants that had replaced her left eye were a definite improvement on the empty socket. Her clothes hid the worst of it, but the left side of her face and neck still bore the marks from the acid burns. Most people wouldn't call her hideous – or even ugly – but more than a few called her intimidating as hell, and she was fine with that.

Her would-be drinking buddy didn't seem to be among that number, however. "Scars just mean that you survived," she observed, still piling on a thick layer of sincerity.

Talia snorted. Apparently, being good looking meant that you didn't get a lot of practice with pickup lines. "Thanks, Doc, but I've had my psych eval for this year."

"I'm not a psychiatrist." The redhead cocked her head, seeming to consider something for a moment before going on. "I'm a journalist."

_Oh,_ _ **hell**_ _, no._ "And?" Talia sat up straighter, putting a crap-ton of ominous behind that single syllable.

The redhead shrugged. "And N7 is hot news: the best of the best. I wanted to do a story on the new graduates from the program, and I picked you as the focus." She leaned a bit closer, voice lowering. "Even before you entered ICT, you'd survived Batarians, thresher maws … I meant what I said before: you _are_ the most interesting person in this room."

"To a vulture, maybe," Talia grunted, but now that she knew the woman's angle, she'd actually relaxed a bit. She'd been dealing with reporters since Mindoir; they could only survive if you fed them. "There are seventeen others who finished the program this time. Go bug them for your story." Shep had a military pedigree stretching back six generations; Alistair had dragged himself out of the slums of earth on sheer determination. Not that Talia planned on informing the nosy bitch of anything she might not already know. Which reminded her: "You already knew who I am."

"I never said I didn't," the redhead pointed out, then, suddenly conciliatory, "Look, I'm sorry if you feel that I deceived you. Let me buy you a drink and we can talk for a bit. I give you my word that I won't publish anything unless you give me permission."

"The word of a reporter," Talia drawled, rolling her right eye toward the ceiling.

"I'm a journalist, not a reporter," the redhead corrected her, big blue eyes all serious now, "and I keep my word."

"Ri-ight." Talia leaned back against the bar, took another drink of beer. "I feel _so_ much better now." On the dance floor, Erin had obviously spotted her company and gave her a big, go-for-it grin. If she only knew.

"Well, if you don't want to talk, how about a dance?" The redhead put a hand on her arm, but Talia snatched it away.

"Lady, what is it about 'No' that you're having trouble with?" she growled, her patience rapidly reaching its limits.

"You haven't actually said no yet," the other woman pointed out smugly.

She was right, damn it. "Let me correct that, then," Talia snapped, leaning down until they were nose to nose: close enough to smell the delicate floral scent of her perfume. "No. Hell, no. And fuck off." She sat back in her chair, glaring. "Clear enough?"

"Crystal." The redhead looked more amused than offended. "Can't blame a girl for trying," she said with a careless shrug as she slid off the bar stool and sauntered away, making sure Talia got a good look at what she'd turned down.

Oh, Talia could blame her, but she resolutely turned her eyes away from the swaying hips and back to the dance floor, taking a deep swallow of the Black and Tan and trying to ignore the irritating feeling that the redhead had managed to best her somehow. The girl was a lot more than just easy on the eyes, but she obviously knew it, used it. Wouldn't hurt for the princess not to get her way this time. Damn reporters, anyway; bloodsuckers, the lot of them, ready to screw over whoever they needed to in order to get their exclusive scoops.

"Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?" Alistair leaped easily onto the barstool the redhead had vacated and ordered a beer. "She was hot!"

"She's a reporter," Talia told him.

"Ouch," he winced. "You're sure?"

"She told me she was. Actually, she said she was a _journalist_." Talia sneered as she emphasized the word. As if that was any different.

"Well …" He turned his head to glance after the redhead, clearly enjoying the view. "At least she was honest, right? I mean, if you know it, what's the harm in a dance … or whatever." He gave her a lopsided leer, waggling his eyebrows.

"I don't like reporters," she reminded him flatly. "You want to take a run at her, be my guest."

"I'm not the one she's interested in," he countered, watching her closely. "And we're supposed to be celebrating?"

"I am," she replied, lifting her mug. His exuberance could get wearying at times, but it went a long way toward counterbalancing the dark moods that threatened to drag her down on occasion. Tonight wasn't one of those occasions, however. "I'm fine," she assured him. "Just in the mood for low-key tonight."

"Well, she definitely doesn't qualify as that," he smirked, nodding toward the dance floor, lecherous grin back in place. Against her better judgment, Talia followed his gaze, and -

_Fuck …_

The redhead had snagged a partner of sorts in the form of a guy who was built like a krogan: narrow hips, broad chest and shoulders, no neck, and was currently demonstrating moves that would make an asari pole-dancer blush. Lithe curves moved in sensuous synchrony with the beat, the blue eyes closed, seemingly lost in the music. Her partner didn't have a chance in hell of keeping up, but he seemed happy to just shuffle his feet and enjoy the show, though she barely seemed aware of his presence. Eyes still closed, she drew her hands over her head, arms undulating as her head tipped back to expose the pale line of her throat, red hair catching dim fire in the flickering lights on the dance floor.

Talia swallowed, aware that Alistair was saying something to her, but unable to focus on the words. The hands came down, moving seductively over the swaying curves, and the chin lowered, blue eyes sliding open and looking straight at Talia for an electric moment, the full lips curving into a knowing smile.

_God_ _**damn** _ _it._

Talia twisted away, back to the bar, trying to ignore the dryness in her mouth, the heat prickling her skin. It hadn't been _that_ long since she'd gotten laid, damn it. "Like I said, be my guest," she growled, draining the Black and Tan in three swallows and lifting the empty mug in a signal for a refill.

"Ri-ight." The smug bastard didn't even try to hide the amusement in his tone. "I'm not much for redheads, anyway."

Talia shot him a skeptical look. "Since when?"

His grin was unrepentant. "Since tonight, anyway. I'm in a blonde sort of mood." He glanced toward the door and his eyes widened. "And if you'll excuse me, I think I've just spotted the next Mrs. Theirin." He hopped off the barstool, then hesitated, looking back at her. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Christ, I'm fine!" she exclaimed in mock exasperation, shoving him in the direction he'd been moving. "At least, I will be once you leave me the hell alone and go get laid!"

Mollified, he turned to go, but couldn't resist a parting shot. "Wouldn't hurt you, either."

"Yeah, right," Talia muttered, turning to claim the newly poured Black and Tan, determined to consume this one with the reverence it was due and resolutely keeping her back to the dance floor. "Not this time."

* * *

_**2185 CE, Hagalaz** _

Ancient fucking history, unfolding in her mind's eye in the split second before she reacted.

The omni-blade disintegrated with another flick of the wrist as Talia released her grip on the intruder and leaped back as if she'd been burned, only to leap back in a second later, instinct propelling her forward just in time to catch the redhead before she hit the floor.

"Don't hurt her, Talia!" Liara cried out, moving quickly toward them.

"Seriously?" Talia glowered irritably at the asari, straightening under a burden that wasn't nearly what it should have been, the feel of bones jutting too prominently beneath the skin and the familiar stench of wounds left to fester only adding to the pulse of anger behind her eye and the edge in her voice. "If I was going to fuckin' hurt her, she'd be dead already!" Not like she'd been in any condition to put up a fight; Talia wasn't sure how she'd made it as far as she had.

Not that she gave a damn. Professional curiosity, that was all.

"And what the hell was _that_ shit all about, anyway?" she demanded, gesturing awkwardly toward the comm panel, regretting it almost immediately as the woman in her arms cried out in pain.

"Be careful," Liara cautioned her reprovingly, brushing tangled red hair away from the pale face, drawing her hand back with a hiss. "She's burning up!" she murmured in dismay.

"What - what hap-" The redhead was barely conscious, but still struggling to speak.

"He's dead," Liara told her soothingly. "He can't hurt you any more, Leli."

Blue eyes hazed with fever and pain fought to focus. "But … you … why -"

"That's what I'd like to know," Erin spoke up. Her tone was mild, but Talia could see the wary tension in her friend's features.

Liara saw it, too, and her expression grew apprehensive. "Well, everyone who has seen the Shadow Broker face to face is dead, so ..." She trailed off, looking beseechingly at Shepard.

"So, you're gonna be the new Shadow Broker? Just like that?" Talia asked, still balancing the potential benefits with the possibility that they'd just been played by someone she'd thought was a friend.

"Is that a good idea, Lia?" The wariness in Erin's face was giving way to worry. Worry _for_ the asari, not about her.

"It's either that or lose everything," Liara replied, biting her lip. "His contacts, his trading sources; those will really help us."

"Us?" Erin's green eyes were openly questioning, and Talia couldn't really blame her. The asari had kept Shepard at arm's length ever since their reunion on Illium, seemingly consumed, first with the need for revenge, then the need to rescue the ally she'd thought dead. The one who'd helped her get Erin's body away from the Shadow Broker.

The one who was huddled broken in Talia's arms

But Liara had built her own empire in those two years: a formidable information broker in her own right. Shep had to be wondering if the reasons they'd been given were the real ones. Talia damn sure was.

Blue eyes brimmed with tears as Liara turned away, walking back to the communications panel. "With the Shadow Broker's information network, I can give you -" Her voice broke. "I can -" Her shoulders slumped, shaking visibly.

Erin took a step toward her, hesitated and looked toward Talia, the question in her eyes plain. Talia tipped one shoulder up in a half shrug, nodded.

_Do it._

"I'll just … get her back to the Normandy," Talia murmured. Whatever conversation followed was bound to be awkward, emotional and most likely followed by make-up sex. Definitely time to go.

"Talia -" Liara had turned toward her, cheeks wet but concern touching her face. "Take care of her?"

"Jesus." Talia huffed a sigh, but Shep was giving her a look that was easy enough to read. "I promise," she said, wondering if they honestly thought she might just dump her over the side.

The asari gave her a quick, grateful nod, and Talia turned and strode toward the door. "Joker, this is Talia. Send the shuttle to my coordinates and tell Chakwas to prep the medbay."

The corridors on the massive ship were empty save for the corpses they'd left behind. She stepped over and around them, moving confidently back the way they'd come until she reached the door they'd breached from the exterior. The superstorm that concealed the ship was still raging outside, so she crouched just inside, waiting for the shuttle to descend through the wind and lightning.

"You came." The wondering words were a whisper, barely more than a breath. Talia did her best to ignore them, ignore the slender arms that wrapped around her neck, the face pressed into her shoulder. "You came."

_Damn it._


	3. Chapter 3

_**2179 CE, Arcturus Station, Finnegan's Pub** _

"You all right?" Erin, cutting to the chase, as usual.

"Perfect," Talia told her, lifting her mug. "Good beer, good friends, good music. What more do I need?"

"Some action, maybe?" Shepard suggested, green eyes going briefly to the dance floor. Talia did not follow her gaze. "Looked like she was pretty interested in you."

Talia snorted. "Interested in an exclusive, you mean," she corrected her friend. "Reporter," she added by way of explanation.

"Ah." Erin bellied up to the bar, ordered a whiskey on the rocks. "The folks are gonna be here tomorrow," she said in an offhanded manner. "Want to take me out to dinner, celebrate me making N7." Her drink arrived, and she took a sip. "Want to come along?"

"Sure," Talia replied without hesitation. It might seem casual to someone on the outside looking in, but that hadn't been an invitation to a social occasion; it was a request for backup. They made a helluva trio: Talia's folks were dead, Alistair had never known his, and Erin hated being around hers. Ian and Hannah Shepard were a matched set of Alliance military heroes, with medals and citations dating back to the First Contact War and a family history of service going back a century and a half. From their daughter and only child, mere excellence was nowhere near acceptable. If she aced a test, they'd want to know why she hadn't gone for extra credit; if she graduated at the top of her class (which she had), they'd ask why it hadn't been by a wider margin.

She and Talia had butted heads - hard - in the N1 sessions, both of them gunning for top dog. A wary but mutual respect had bloomed by the end, growing into friendship by the time they'd finished N2. Talia didn't hold back - Shepard would've kicked her ass for that - but she'd gotten good at gauging when not to kick on the afterburners. At the end of N7, Erin held the top spot, with Talia a close second and Alistair cruising comfortably in the middle of the pack, and since Talia didn't have anything to prove to anyone but herself, she was fine with that.

Her presence at dinner would tone things down; surviving both batarians and thresher maws tended to impress the brass, as well as the press. "She had a weird accent," Talia mused, taking a sip of her beer.

"Who? The reporter you're not interested in?" Erin didn't bother to hide the smirk any more than Alistair had.

"Screw you," Talia replied with no real heat. They'd figured out early on that a literal interpretation of that wouldn't work. No matter how good the sex might have been, they'd kill each other out of the sack. Wasn't worth trashing the friendship. "It was weird, though ... like something you hear in the older vids." She took another drink, thinking about it, but not giving in to the mild urge to turn and look at the owner of the weird accent. "You know anywhere they speak French any more?"

Erin cocked her head, considering. "I've heard of some colonies that are set up to recreate some old Earth cultures. Gotta be at least a couple that speak French." Again with the goddamn smirk, a nod toward the floor. "You could ask her."

"Christ, if you and Al think she's that hot, one of you go for her!" Talia exclaimed in exasperation.

"Al's on a blonde binge tonight," Erin replied, nodding to where he was busy chatting up his current target, though his attention seemed to be fixed well south of her hair.

"And you?" Talia challenged her.

Shepard shrugged. "I'm looking for easy and no strings attached," she replied with a grin. "And someone looking to score a story has all kinds of strings."

Strings that would lead back to the parental units. Erin's entire life had been spent in the shadow of their expectations, and while she indulged in minor rebellions, such as hooking up in bars, she had thus far largely pushed forward, determined to meet those expectations. Talia could never decide if she envied her friend, or felt sorry for her, though at moments like this, the balance definitely tipped toward the latter.

"Besides," she went on, the damn smirk back, "wouldn't want to cut in on your action."

_Seriously?_ Granted, the three of them busted each other's balls pretty much at will, but still ... "I told you," Talia shot back, "I'm not -"

"Let me go!"

Her mouth snapped shut, teeth coming together with a click as she glared at Shepard. Even underneath the pulse of the music and the layers of two dozen conversations, she recognized the voice, the accent, but she refused to turn and follow Erin's gaze.

"Looks like a D.I.D." Shepard observed, a dare-you gleam dancing in the green eyes.

_D.I.D._ Short for damsel in distress. "That's his specialty, not mine," Talia growled, jerking her head in Alistair's direction.

"He's busy," Erin countered smoothly. Which wasn't entirely true. His attention still seemed centered on the blonde, but his posture had shifted subtly to readiness. He was aware of whatever was taking place on the dance floor, but he was waiting, watching. To see what she would do.

_Shit._

After a final glower at Shepard, she set her mug on the bar and turned. The human krogan had the redhead's wrist gripped in a meaty hand and was trying to pull her toward him. She seemed more annoyed than alarmed, but was having no luck freeing herself from his grasp.

"I said let me go!"

"We ain't done dancin' yet," he growled, giving her arm a yank that sent her stumbling forward into him.

_Well, crap_. A glance around showed no sign of the usually vigilant bouncers, and while most of the dancing in the vicinity had stopped, none of the onlookers seemed inclined to intervene. Talia slid off the barstool and moved forward.

"She's done, and so's the dance," she informed No-Neck flatly, keeping her stance balanced, hands open and loose at her sides. "Let her go."

Beady eyes beneath a cliff of a forehead glared at her. "You think you can make me, bitch?" he taunted.

_Seriously?_ The N7 insignia on the uniform was more than just a Get Laid Free card in any bar in Systems Alliance space; it was a warning to the wise. "No, I don't think so," she replied, voice calm and level. "I _know_ I can, so why don't you be smart and walk away?" The redhead was watching her, making no attempt to escape. Damsel she might be, but she didn't seem particularly distressed, and Talia was considering taking her own advice when her peripheral vision caught movement on what most people thought was her blind side.

"Look out!" The redhead's cry of warning was a bit behind the curve, and Talia didn't even bother to turn her head when she drove her arm out, punching hard into the solar plexus of the mouthbreather who had tried rushing her from the left. The optics behind the eyepatch confirmed him folding over with a wheezing grunt, but her right eye never left No-Neck, whose own beady eyes widened as she deliberately opened and closed the fingers of the left hand, the lights of the cybernetics gleaming along the surface. They'd offered a cosmetic prosthesis for that, too; she'd turned them down, never wore gloves unless she was in an environmental suit. She was an Alliance-made killing machine, and damn proud of it.

"Last chance." Wiping the floor (and the walls, ceiling and tables) with him was tempting as hell, but the paperwork would be a bitch. Anywhere but Arcturus Station - N7 HQ - and she'd have gone ahead and let the chips fall, tried to spin it after, but at least half of the patrons here tonight were Alliance military; more than a few of them held no great love for special ops, and would be only too happy to report it if she swung first.

He wasn't going to back down; she could see that in the stubborn set of his jaw, and when a handful of his mates stepped up, she could see his spine stiffening. Five to one: she'd be hurting later, but no one would be able to spin this against her with those odds. She just had to wait for the numbers to make them brave enough to be stupid. "Which one of you ladies wants to dance first?" she drawled, deciding to help them along a bit.

For a second, she thought it was going to work, but then, just like that, their collective resolve crumbled as their eyes looked past her, and Talia didn't need to turn around to know that Erin and Alistair had taken up position at her back. She didn't say anything else, just gave them a cheerful, fuck-you grin; N7 to the third power was math that no sane individual wanted to fuck with, and while this bunch was undoubtedly stupid, they were apparently not crazy.

"Fuckit," No-Neck snarled after a long moment, shoving the redhead forward into Talia's arms. She caught the other woman, shifted her smoothly behind, ready for the sneak attack, but he was already backing away, trying hard to look like he was doing her a favor by tucking tail and running. She watched until they were off the dance floor, then turned to Shep and Al.

"Guess they didn't want to play."

"Too bad." Alistair's disappointment was about as genuine as the double D cups straining the front of the dress that the onlooking blonde was wearing, but if the look she was giving him was any indication, he'd displayed more than enough derring-do to get dragged back to her place as soon as he stepped away.

"Another time," Talia said with a shrug. Fights were easy enough to find when you were in the mood for one. "Thanks, man." She held out a fist, and he tapped it with his own.

"Anytime," he replied, and meant it. No matter what went down, he'd have her back, just like she'd have his, just like Shepard would have both their backs and they'd have hers. In the tightly knit microcosm of N7, they had formed something tighter still: a family, the bonds forged in fire and blood. One instructor in N3 had tried pasting them with the Three Musketeers label, but it hadn't stuck. Everybody else called them the Wolfpack, and tried not to piss any of them off.

As expected, the blonde had him in a liplock before he'd taken ten steps. Deciding she didn't want to see if she waited to get him out the door before mounting him, Talia turned back to Erin, shaking her head. "Christ, he's a dog."

Shepard nodded, smiling faintly. "But he's our dog."

"Damn right." Work hard, play harder, but when drop time came, he'd be right there with them, locked and loaded.

Erin glanced toward the redhead, gave her a slight nod and that enigmatic smile of hers. The faintest smug gleam in the green eyes as they slid back to Talia, and Shepard turned and sauntered back toward where she'd left her drink. Tall, blonde and mysterious: worked like a charm on men and women both, and Talia wouldn't have been surprised if the not-so-distressed damsel had fallen for it, but when she turned, the blue eyes were looking straight at her.

"Thank you," the redhead said, her voice and smile warm. "That was an … unpleasant situation."

Talia shrugged. "Not sure why you didn't just kick him in the nuts," she replied. "He was wide open." She wasn't sure why the redhead had picked the human krogan for a dance partner in the first place, but that was none of her business. Not that she gave a damn, anyway.

"In my experience, I've found that … less evolved males are not as affected by that as much," the redhead replied. "It tends to just anger them. Besides," she hesitated, weighing her words again, "I was fairly sure you would be coming to my rescue."

Talia felt her jaw clench. "Lady, I don't give a damn how much of my service jacket you've read, you don't know me," she said tightly, not sure if she was more annoyed with the redhead or herself.

"No," the other woman agreed, "but I would very much like to. Now that I find myself in your debt, perhaps you'll let me buy you that drink?" The lilting accent was smooth as honey and playing hell with the translator chip embedded in Talia's mastoid bone, but the language was definitely the common Earth tongue.

"I've -" _got one_ , Talia was going to say, but when she glanced toward where she'd left her mug, she found it in Shepard's hand, lifted in a mocking toast before being chugged at a rate that was a crime against good beer.

_Fuck you,_ she mouthed to Erin, careful to enunciate, before turning back to the redhead. _What the hell._ "Why not?" she said with a shrug. A free drink was a free drink, right?

"Good." The redhead smiled at her again. "I am Leliana."

"Talia," the marine replied, adding with a quirked eyebrow, "but you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Yes," the redhead - Leliana - replied, slipping her arm through Talia's, "but I'm very glad to be able to hear it from you."

_**2185 CE, Normandy SR-2 in orbit over Hagalaz** _

"Put her down here." Doc Chakwas was all business, her eyes on the figure that Talia carried as she pointed to the nearest of the beds in the medical bay.

Talia complied as best she could, placing Leliana on the bed and reaching up to unwrap the arms from around her neck, trying not to notice how thin they were. The other woman resisted, shaking her head. "No," she murmured weakly, fear and fever making the blue eyes bright.

"It's all right," Talia told her in a low voice. She really didn't want to give the doc ringside seats to this little sideshow. "You're safe here, Leli." The diminutive slipped out all too easily, considering it'd been six years since she'd last used it, and she bit her lip, trying to corral a whole host of emotions that she didn't want to be dealing with right now. "You're safe." One of the most advanced ships in the galaxy, complete with a full crew of badasses. Not many places safer ... at least, until they made the jump through the relay that no ship had ever returned from, but Leliana wouldn't be around for that.

The other woman gave no indication that she'd heard. "No," she repeated, fingers seeking purchase on Talia's armor and failing. "I need to tell you ... need to tell -"

"No," Talia shook her head, disengaging gingerly and stepping out of reach. "You don't need to tell me anything." That wasn't why she'd volunteered for this mission, damn it. "We're square now."

No response; she looked to have lost consciousness. Chakwas stepped past Talia to the bedside, giving no indication that she'd noticed the exchange. Her fingers moved swiftly over the interface of the diagnostic unit, eyes scanning the readouts.

"Dear God," she muttered, lips pressed into a grim line. "Tell me that whoever did this is dead."

"Full on dead," Talia confirmed, the flutter of unease an unwelcome presence in her gut. The doc was hard to shake up. "How bad is it?"

"She's septic as hell," Chakwas replied, brushing by Talia and diving into the supply cabinet, emerging with arms laden with bags of fluids, vials and transdermal injectors. "Severe malnutrition with metabolic acidiosis, her kidneys are on the verge of shutting down, more fractures in various stages of healing than I have time to count, and some maniac has evidently been using her to practice scrimshaw." She pushed a ragged sleeve up to give an injection, and Talia drew a sharp breath at the network of scars crisscrossing the pale skin, not all of them healed. She hadn't let herself look on the way up. "Her neuromuscular system shows signs of repeated electrical trauma -"

"Is she gonna make it?" Talia interrupted the physician. She got it: it was bad, but Dr. Chakwas was the best there was, and the new Normandy's medbay went beyond state-of-the-art. That had to be enough, right?

"She has a chance," Chakwas replied tersely, eyes focused on her task as she set up a fluid infusion, added shit from the vials to the bags, gave more injections, consulted the readouts again. "If you'd gotten there much later, that wouldn't have been the case." She glanced quickly at the marine. "Have a seat over there, and I'll take care of those ribs after I get her stabilized."

As observant as ever, but Talia shook her head, starting for the door. "They'll keep."

"Talia."

She stopped, looked back to meet Karin's calm gaze. "Seriously? I've gotten worse than this on shore leave." Fifteen years ago, those eyes had been the first thing Talia had seen when she had clawed her way back to consciousness on board the SSV Shasta, orbiting high over Mindoir. The physician had kept tabs on her over the years, though they'd never served together until Shep had tapped her and Alistair after being given command of the first Normandy. The doc had kept them all patched up during the hunt for Saren; she likely knew better than anyone except Erin or Al what Talia's limits were. "They'll keep," she repeated calmly. "Just … take care of the package, all right?" That's all the redhead was: a package, a mission, and Talia's part in this mission was done. "I need to go write up the after-action."

Chakwas' lips thinned in disapproval at the term, but she nodded and turned back to Leliana. "Lieutenant-Commander?"

She stopped again, one foot out the door. "Yeah?"

"There is to be no sparring with Jack or Grunt until I've cleared you."

She'd been busted down in rank for insubordination only slightly less often that she was promoted for performance, but there was some authority that she didn't buck. "Yes, ma'am," she said obediently, continuing out into the corridor and hanging a right toward the mess hall.

Officially, Shepard was dead and Talia and Alistair were AWOL; unofficially, the Alliance and the Citadel Council were hedging their bets, reinstating Shepard's status as a Spectre, letting her bring the two N7's on board the new Normandy, hoping like hell the Wolfpack, aided by the Cerberus vessel and its crew, could figure out who was behind the disappearances.

After burying the warnings about the Reapers under layers of bullshit, whitewashing the attack on the Citadel into a geth uprising and labeling the ones who had stopped Saren and his buddy Sovereign as crackpots, the Alliance brass found themselves up shit creek when whole human colonies started vanishing without a trace. The fact that they were relying on a Cerberus ship and crew to save their bacon had to be chapping some asses, but they still wanted their updates, and Talia had drawn that shit detail because Alistair couldn't type worth a damn.

Didn't mean that she told them everything, mind you, and she damn sure didn't prioritize them over chow, particularly when her nose told her that Gardner was doing Diner Night. One double cheeseburger with the works and a pile of fries later, Talia dropped into a chair, ready for a grease overdose. A shadow fell over the table, and Alistair claimed the chair across from her.

"Well?" he challenged her.

He wasn't alone. Seeing the biggest damn horndog in Alliance space with just one woman was weird enough, but that woman being Miranda Lawson only added to the Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot factor. Even weirder: Talia was positive they hadn't sealed the deal yet.

"Is Shepard all right?" the Cerberus operative asked, settling into the chair beside Alistair. Talia gave her a flat stare, waiting for the stupidity of the question to sink in, before turning to Alistair. His attachment to Miranda _might_ buy her a reprieve from the purge of Cerberus that Talia fully intended to implement once their mission was over, but that didn't mean that she had to pretend to like her.

"Shadow Broker's dead," she informed him, taking a bite of her burger.

"And?"

She chewed, swallowed. "And … Shepard is probably banging the new Shadow Broker as we speak."

"Liara?" Miranda didn't look surprised. "That could be useful to us."

Potentially true, but evidently not what Alistair was interested in. "And?"

As usual, he was as subtle as a kick to the groin, but he had yet to win this game with her. "And … Gardner makes a kickass bacon cheeseburger," she told him, taking another bite to prove her point.

"Had one earlier," he replied, visibly weighing whether or not to keep trying the oblique approach before giving up. "What about Leliana?"

Chew, swallow, shrug. "We got her," Talia replied matter-of-factly. "She's in pretty bad shape; Doc's working on her now." She snagged a couple of fries, dragged them through ketchup, popped them into her mouth with deliberate disinterest.

Hazel eyes regarded her closely, but it was Miranda who spoke, clearly trying to be comforting … something that she sucked at. "Dr. Chakwas is extremely skilled, Talia. I am certain that your … your friend will be all right."

"She's not my friend," Talia shot back, glaring at Alistair, who had evidently sung like a damned canary. "Or anything else. We had a mission, we did it, end of story."

"C'mon, Tal," Alistair protested. "She helped Liara get Erin back -"

"Well, damn, I'd _completely_ forgotten about that!" Talia exclaimed sarcastically. "But you know what? She saved Shep, we saved her. She didn't fucking do it for me, and I _damn_ sure didn't do anything for her." Appetite gone, she shoved the tray toward Alistair and stood. "Do me a favor and screw him before his brain turns completely to mush," she growled at Miranda before stalking out of the mess hall, frustrated rage throbbing behind her eyes.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_**2179 CE, Arcturus Station, Finnegan's Pub** _

"Hello, there!"

"Hi." The greeting was nonchalant, but Leliana had seen Talia scanning the crowd as she made her way through the tavern toward the bar. She was out of uniform tonight, but her bearing marked her as military as clearly as any insignia, and eyes turned to follow her: the black, fitted t-shirt and cargo pants put the lithely muscled body on good display, she moved with a predator's grace, her confidence just shy of cocky. The eyepatch gave her a rakish appearance, and even the cybernetic arm fit her frame, the metal gleaming faintly in the club lights. She didn't try to hide it, or the scars; long, dark hair that could have been swept forward to conceal cheek and neck was instead held back in a neat braid, the old acid burns on defiant display in a world where medical technology could have erased them with almost no trace.

"It's good to see you again," she told the soldier warmly. "I had begun to wonder if I would."

"Been on assignment," Talia replied with a shrug, adding, "Classified," before Leliana could reply. No hint of braggadocio in the word; simply stating a fact.

"N7 assignments generally are," Leliana replied. "Care to join me if I promise not to ask questions about it?" She allowed a hint of a teasing lilt into her voice. By the time they had parted company a month ago, the bristling suspicion had given way to a wary curiosity. She'd withheld questions then, too, talking about herself, instead: people she'd interviewed, stories she'd written. Her interest in her subjects was genuine; it was one of the things that made her a successful journalist, and she could spin a captivating tale with her voice, as well as by the written word. Building trust took time, but it was another area where she excelled.

It was one of the things that made her a successful spy.

Talia considered the offer briefly, then took one of the available chairs, sitting with her back to the wall, her gaze briefly sweeping the room before coming back to rest on her tablemate. There was a tension in her that had not been present at their first meeting; the reason was not hard to deduce.

"Your friends: Erin and Alistair. They are all right, I hope?"

"They're fine," Talia said, a little too quickly, a little too firmly. Trying to convince herself. "Different details, that's all. They should be here in a few days."

"You're worried about them."

A flicker of annoyance in the brown eye. "I thought you said you wouldn't ask questions?"

"That wasn't a question." She kept her voice gentle, her gaze frank, and after a moment, Talia looked away.

"They're big kids. They can watch their own asses."

"You've gotten used to looking out for each other." Still not a question. She'd spoken with enough soldiers over the years to know the bonds that the heat of battle forged. "You seem to have survived your own assignment none the worse for wear."

Talia nodded, then shrugged. "Not like I was alone. I was with other N7's, and they were good; it's just ..." She trailed off, shrugged again.

"It's just that Erin and Alistair are better," Leliana finished for her.

" _We're_ better," Talia corrected her. "They teach you to work together in training, work with different people … hell, different species, but there's always some you work better with than others. I'd just rather have them watching my six; that's all."

And be watching theirs in turn. The young woman had suffered loss upon loss in her life: her family on Mindoir, her unit on Akuze. The portions of her service record that Leliana had managed to access detailed an officer who was cautious with the lives of those under her command, but reckless when it came to her own safety, with half a dozen citations for bravery and almost as many reprimands for insubordination. It also noted that she had formed no close friendships since Akuze, holding herself aloof from squadmates until she had entered the ICT program.

N-series training records were classified, so Leliana had no idea what the catalyst for the friendship between the oddly matched trio had been, but she'd seen it for herself, watching as they'd walked in together that first night. Shepard had been in the lead, projecting an aura of cool confidence that had drawn plenty of interested gazes. Alistair had been next; outwardly, seemingly totally focused on female companionship, drinking and dancing, but his hazel eyes seemed to miss little. Talia had hung back just slightly, wary gaze on the lookout for trouble, joining the other two when none had materialized. They'd kept company throughout the evening, separating to dance and chat with one partner or another, then regrouping for a drink. Even apart, each one had plainly maintained a peripheral awareness of where the other two were. It had taken less than a minute for both Alistair and Erin to back Talia up, and Leliana had little doubt that the response time would have been much faster had violence seemed truly imminent.

"You are fortunate to have friends that you trust that much," she told the marine.

"Yeah," Talia said simply, glancing away again. "Black and tan," she ordered as the waitress approached, adding, "I got it," to Leliana before she could offer, waiting until the girl had moved away before speaking again. "I found some of your stories on the extranet," she said, tapping the cybernetic left arm with the fingers of her right hand. The omni-tool that most wore in a glove or on the wrist had been built into the circuitry of the prosthetic. "Read 'em during down time."

"Did you like them?" Leliana wanted to know. She'd rather hoped that Talia would look up her writings; it would lay the groundwork for her next steps.

"Some of them," Talia replied obliquely, the faintest gleam of amusement in the brown eye making it clear that the comment was deliberately chosen. "I liked the piece on Shanxi." Yes, she'd thought that Talia would approve of that one. "Most people blame General Williams for surrendering to the turians."

"He had no choice," Leliana replied. "The turians had cut off supplies. Civilians were starving, soldiers were running out of ammunition, and the turians were pulverizing the colony from orbit. He kept up the fight long enough to get most of the survivors into the outlying areas before surrendering. They provided valuable ground support when the Second Fleet was fighting to reclaim the colony. I've spoken to many veterans of the First Contact War, and those who served under General Williams consider him a hero."

"And the brass screwed him over to cover their own asses." Talia made a sound of disgust, picking up the mug that was set before her and taking a drink. "I doubt you made any friends in high places with that story."

Leliana shrugged. "The official account has been told often enough; I thought that people might be interested in another perspective." It had also won her no small amount of admiration from the military rank and file, and it was there that she most often found useful bits of information.

The stock in trade of an information broker was rarely found in earth-shattering secrets. An overheard comment, an admission made off the record, a secret divulged in the languorous minutes after passion; individually, they might not mean much, but taken together, combined with a bit of skilled hacking, and a picture emerged that was worth something to someone. That was where her true talent lay: assembling her information from so many disparate sources that none of them suspected their roles in divulging that information.

Certainly, none of them suspected that she was anything but a journalist with a keen interest in the stories of the soldiers in the trenches and aboard the ships that dared the furthest edges of the galactic frontier. They spoke with her freely, accepted the drinks she bought, sometimes shared her bed; they trusted her, and she repaid that trust by never publishing anything spoken off the record, maintaining the anonymity of confidential informants, giving credit to those who wanted it. Not one of her sources had ever even been suspected of leaking classified information, much less punished.

And if the Shadow Broker paid her well for the secrets she assembled, that was only part of the draw, and not even the largest part. Her writing paid quite well, after all. The real lure was the satisfaction of a puzzle assembled, the challenge of secrets gathered and passed along with none the wiser. It was a game like no other, and she was one of the most skilled players in that game.

The look that Talia gave her was almost pitying. "People don't want to know about the losses, the failures," she said, her tone matter of fact. "All they want to hear is that it won't happen again. Give them a scapegoat and a report that points the finger where they think it ought to go, and they're ready to put it all to bed. Bury the dead, patch up the survivors and forget it ever happened." There was no bitterness in her tone, but the world-weary cynicism that touched her features made her look far older than twenty-three. Barely a quarter into her lifespan, she'd lived – and lost – more than many several times her age.

"That is why you have never had your scars removed, isn't it?" Leliana guessed. "So you wouldn't forget?" She knew that she was pushing the limits again, wasn't surprised by Talia's scowl.

"No questions," the marine reminded her, but she didn't get up, didn't leave. She took another drink of her beer, her gaze shifting to the crowd again.

"I don't believe that, anyway," Leliana told her. "People want to know about heroes: individuals who have overcome daunting odds, achieved worthy deeds. It gives them hope that they can do the same. People need hope."

The brown eye returned to her, mildly incredulous. "Is that what you think I am? A hero?" She snorted, shook her head scornfully. "You're looking in the wrong place," she muttered. "The only heroes I know are dead."

Her family on Mindoir. Her squadmates on Akuze. Mentioning them would likely bring this conversation to an end. "I've never spoken to a hero who claimed to be one," she observed gently. "You have survived two terrible experiences, but you have chosen a career that requires you to put yourself in harm's way to protect others." She cocked her head. "That seems heroic to me."

"Or maybe I just like getting paid to kill batarians," Talia suggested dismissively.

"One could hardly blame you," she agreed. The atrocities committed by batarian pirates in the attack on Mindoir and numerous other colonies had been extensively documented, and Talia had witnessed them – endured them – firsthand.

"Why writing?" Talia asked before she could suggest that the marine might have other motivations for her choice of occupation. "Most people just watch vids. You're decent enough to look at; seems like you'd do well doing that."

"Decent enough to look at?" Leliana teased her. "Lieutenant, I believe that is the first time I've received that particular compliment."

A hint of a smile, there and gone. "I'll bet," Talia replied simply. Their eyes met, held, and Leliana felt the pleasant jolt of frisson. She never pursued a subject that she did not find interesting, but physical attraction, while welcome and generally helpful to her ends, was not always involved.

"To answer your question, I consider video to be a lazy medium of communication," she told the soldier. "The producer shows the viewer what they want them to see, tells them what they want them to know. When you write, you paint a picture with words, but the picture that each reader sees is slightly different, viewed through their imagination. It requires more on the part of writer and reader both. Despite the visual and audio component of vids, I feel that writing is a more intimate connection." With someone else, she might have given subtle emphasis to 'intimate', but this no-nonsense soldier would have no use for such innuendo. "You read them, did you not?"

Talia considered her words, nodded. "Fair enough."

The kinetic pulse of the music shifted to a slow, sensual rhythm, and the energetic movements on the dance floor coalesced into close-swaying couples. "Care to dance?" she invited her companion.

Talia cocked her head and crossed her arms over her chest, that faint smile back. "Not sure I could keep up with you." Reminding her of her dance that first night. She'd been trying to draw the soldier's eye, true, but her primary aim had been to provoke precisely the response in her dance partner that she had achieved, leading to precisely the response she'd been hoping for in Talia.

"I'm sure you could," she replied, meeting Talia's gaze again. The attraction between them had been palpable that night, and while Talia was not so prolific as Alistair, she had no shortage of casual trysts in her past, though there had been no indication of any serious romantic involvements. Leliana had kept the flirting light, but she'd been surprised that Talia did not even try for a kiss when they parted at the evening's end … until she'd seen the gleam of amusement in the brown eye just before the marine turned to go. She'd known that Leliana had been expecting her to make some sort of advance. Known and sidestepped it as adroitly as dodging a bullet.

Two could play that game, and a bit of challenge always made the chase more interesting. "This tempo seems safe enough," she said, coming to her feet and holding out one hand, letting a bit of playful challenge color her voice as she added, "unless you're afraid of little old me?"

"Yeah, right," Talia snorted, but she still looked amused … and interested. After a moment, she stood, taking Leliana's outstretched hand with her left one and allowing herself to be led toward the dance floor. The prosthetic hand was warm to the touch, though not unduly so, the feel of it different than flesh and bone, but still familiar.

On the dance floor, she turned and stepped closer to the taller woman, slipping her arms up and around her neck. The hands that settled at her waist were strong and sure, placed well within the bounds of propriety … unlike the hands of more than a few of the other couples. She opted to stay low-key, guiding her partner into a slow dance: intimate without being seductive.

Talia looked down at her thoughtfully. Up close, the scars left by the thresher maw attack were clearer, the old burns pale and shiny against the dusky skin, but like the cybernetic arm and the eyepatch, they fit her in an odd way, setting off the features of the unscarred right side of her face.

"You really do have a thing for scars, don't you?" the warrior asked her, seeming undecided whether to be amused or annoyed by the possibility.

"I have a 'thing' for interesting people," she asserted with a smile.

"Guess they make for better stories, don't they?"

"They do." No point in denying it. "But I meant what I said before: I will publish nothing without your permission. I believe that your story would be worth telling, but only if you want it to be." She cocked her head. "You said you'd read my work; did you find any mention of me breaking trust with one of my sources?"

"No." They danced in a silence that was not quite comfortable for several moments before Talia spoke again. "I never forget how I got them. Any of them. It's the rest of the damn galaxy that wants to forget. Give me reconstructive surgery and a shiny new eye along with my medal, then they don't have to look at me and remember that they fucked up and got people killed." She shook her head, her expression harsh. "I don't let them." The anger faded to something closer to melancholy. "Like I said, the only heroes I know are dead."

"Perhaps." Leliana knew not to argue that particular subject too strenuously. "But the fact that you want them to be remembered is no small thing."

"It's not a big thing, either," Talia countered with a shrug. Another silence, broken by, "You'd tell people what happened? What really happened?"

"I would use your own recollections, along with my own research," Leliana told her. "It may be that I uncover information that will shed a new light on those events for you. Things you did not know." Treading cautiously. "In my experience, no one person knows the whole of any event. Each individual provides a facet, a piece of the puzzle."

A glimmer of wary hostility in the brown eye, the faintest stiffening of the body that swayed with hers. "And if everyone else is dead?" Talia challenged her.

"Your perspective would be the primary focus," Leliana assured her, "but I have resources that I can tap into: resources outside of official channels, that might provide their own perspectives, apart from the official accounts." It was powerful bait, she knew; even more than she might want the stories of Mindoir and Akuze told, Talia Cousland wanted to know what had happened to the people she cared about, what had happened to her. Not the official reports, redacted, sanitized and spun in the direction that the powers-that-be wanted them sent. The truth. And Leliana was confident that she could find the truth … or at least, parts of it that Talia didn't know.

Hunger flickered across the soldier's features … but doubt, as well. "I dunno," she muttered.

"You don't have to make a decision this instant," Leliana told her. "For now, we can just enjoy each other's company." She offered a winsome smile, letting her fingers toy with the fine hair at the nape of Talia's neck. "I'm not such bad company, am I?"

The hostility faded, replaced by amusement … and a different kind of hunger. "Not too bad," Talia agreed, smiling back at her.

* * *

_**2185 CE, Normandy SR-2 in orbit over Hagalaz** _

"How do you feel?" Dr. Chakwas asked as she shone a light in first one eye, then the other.

"Weak," Leliana replied, "but much better than I did two days ago. Thank you."

"I'm glad that I was able to do some good," the physician remarked, waving her omni-tool on a slow pass from head to foot, consulting the readout. "The infection is clearing up nicely, but I want to continue the antibiotics for another three days, at least, and I'd like to check you daily until then."

She managed a laugh. "Well, fortunately, I don't believe that I have any pressing engagements elsewhere." After two years, was there anything left of her old life? Her flat on Omega? Her files? Her contacts?

The doctor chuckled, but the green eyes were sympathetic. "Commander Shepard is keeping us here for a few more days, but after that, I'm sure we can take you where you need to go. The Citadel, perhaps?"

"I … don't know." She'd long ago let go of the idea that she would ever be free again. Survival had been her only day-to-day goal, sheer stubbornness the only thing keeping her clinging to life, even knowing that the next day would bring only more pain. "I -"

"It's all right." Chakwas' voice was calm, measured. The voice of a healer. "You don't have to decide right now. You're safe here."

Safe. It had been a desperate hope in those first terrified days, fading over endless weeks to a barely-remembered dream, then a cruel memory. All those years when she had kept herself safe through her skill and wits, torn away in the aftermath of a split-second decision that was intended to be her redemption. And now?

She simply nodded. "I know," she said quietly. "Thank you."

"Do you think you're up to visitors?" The swell of hope at the doctor's question quickly subsided, but the pair who walked into the medical bay were still a welcome sight.

"Hey." She offered Erin Shepard and Liara a wan smile, accepted a fierce hug from the asari.

"Feeling better?" Shepard asked. The Spectre had changed greatly from the newly-minted N7 on Arcturus Station, and she was miles away from the charred and broken corpse from Alingon. "You're definitely looking better."

"As are you," she told Erin. "I do feel much better," she added. "Dr. Chakwas is very skilled. Thank you."

Commander Shepard shook her head. "No. Thank you. Liara told me what you did." An awkward pause. "I saw what it cost you."

"It was the right thing to do," Leliana replied simply. "I couldn't let him sell you to the Collectors. I'm just glad that Cerberus' plan worked. It scarcely seemed possible at the time." She glanced toward Liara. "I didn't even know if you had survived. Sometimes he would tell me that you were dead, other times that you had traded me to him for Erin's body."

"Oh, Leli, no ..." Liara shook her head, tears standing in blue eyes. "I would never have -"

"I knew that," Leliana told her. "And I think I knew that if you were really dead, he would have shown me your body. It was just … hard to think, sometimes." She bit her lip as memory tried to press in: pain and terror and a yawning chasm of hopelessness. Dimly, she could feel her nails digging into the palms of her hands. "I couldn't think … couldn't -"

"It's all right." Liara's arms around her, a gentleness she hadn't felt in … two years? Longer? "Leliana, it's all right. You're safe now. The bastard can't hurt you any more."

"He's dead?" She could feel the damp of tears on her skin, but they were Liara's. She couldn't remember the last time she had been able to cry. "Tell me he's dead." She had seen the lifeless body of the Shadow Broker … hadn't she? "Please?"

"He's dead." It was Shepard who spoke, stepping closer and crouching down, green eyes steely as they peered up into hers. "Dead and gone, and I can promise you that Cerberus has no interest in bringing him back."

She managed a nod, forcing herself to focus on her breathing: deep and slow. "I remember," she said, to herself as much as them. "I remember."

"Good." Erin straightened. "We'll be staying here a few more days, help Liara repair the damage." The look that passed between Shepard and the asari brought a bittersweet ache to Leliana's chest. Liara's devotion to the Spectre had been profound; Erin Shepard might have been brought back to life by Cerberus, but it had only been possible because Liara had refused to accept the finality of her lover's death. "After, we can take you wherever you need to go."

"Or you could … stay here. With me." Liara's suggestion was hesitant, almost apologetic, but the blue eyes held understanding. There was nothing for Leliana to go back to. "I could use your help."

She met the asari's gaze, considering. Being on that ship again, even free … she could feel her throat trying to narrow, pushed it away. "You're sure that you want to become the new Shadow Broker?" The memories were no more than disjointed flashes: that voice over the intercom, the gun in her hand, Talia's face, Liara in front of the communications console … "Why?"

"Because as much evil as that creature did with the resources on that ship, I – we – have the opportunity to do good," Liara told her earnestly. "The Reapers are coming, and no one wants to believe it, the Collectors are a part of it, but we don't know why or how. We have to find out, but we're running out of time."

_The opportunity to do good._ The same thing that had pushed her, two years ago, to betray the Shadow Broker, to give Liara the chance to escape at cost of her own freedom. The chance to atone for the wrongs she had done, the people she had harmed playing her game. She closed her eyes, drew a steadying breath.

"I don't know," she managed. "I – I want to help, but I don't know if I can -" She needed time before she again faced the tiny cell where she had spent weeks without seeing or speaking to another soul; the narrow, shadowed corridors where she'd been dragged when she refused to walk; the room with the chair where she -

"That's all right." Erin's voice, calm and reassuring, nothing at all like the legends of "The Butcher of Torfan". "You can stay on the Normandy for now. Be easier for Doc to keep an eye on you, anyway. You can decide when we leave." She opened her eyes, gave the Spectre a grateful nod. Shepard glanced to Dr. Chakwas. "We have any empty bunk space?"

The physician pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Let me see what I can do," she said, turning and moving to her desk.

"We're not exactly set up for passengers," Erin explained wryly. "We've been stashing crew in nooks and crannies as we recruit them."

"No one should have to give up a bed for me," Leliana protested. "I can sleep here in the medical bay."

Shepard shook her head. "The beds aren't that comfortable." She offered a crooked grin. "I should know; I've spent enough time on them. It won't hurt someone to double up for a couple of days." She cocked her head, considering. "Okay, maybe not Jack."

The name meant nothing to Leliana, but Liara laughed softly. "No, I don't think that would be fair to do to anyone."

Dr. Chakwas rejoined them. "I've arranged for the use of the port observation deck," she reported.

Erin shot her an incredulous look. "How the hell did you pull that off?"

The physician shrugged. "I asked."

Looking between them, Leliana felt a twinge of apprehension. "Talia?" she guessed.

Chakwas nodded. "The Lieutenant-Commander said she would find other sleeping accommodations."

Leliana stared at her in bafflement. "Why would she do that? She wants nothing to do with me; she hasn't been in the medical bay since she left me here." Even Alistair had been by briefly, making a few minutes of awkward conversation while casting nervous glances toward the door, plainly worried about Talia catching him there.

The doctor laughed softly. "Not when you're awake, my dear, but E.D.I., our ship's VI, monitors your vitals and keeps her apprised. She's been popping in for an update nearly every time you've been asleep."

**Author's Note:**

> So, a few months back, I was trying to help a friend bust down a writer's block and came up with the idea of an ME/DA crossover. The friend found another way to break the block, but the idea wouldn't go away.
> 
> It's not a crossover in the true sense of the word. It has no direct connection to Moments In Time, no Thedas, no Grey Wardens. But after – shit, I've forgotten how many years of writing for those characters, I've got a solid enough grip on them that exploring how the personalities might evolve and interact given a very different set of backgrounds and circumstances intrigued me.
> 
> I gave some thought to plugging more the DA NPC's into the place of their ME counterparts: Wynne for Chakwas or Samara, Zev for Thane, Morrigan for Miranda (that one was the most tempting) & so on, but I'm quite fond of the ME cast, so in the end, Talia, Leliana & Alistair are all that made the jump, & Leliana is the only one who is replacing an NPC from the game.
> 
> Thought about replacing Shepard with Talia or Alistair, but decided that I liked the idea of a perspective from the sidelines. Between Shep, Talia & Al, all three origin/service histories will be covered.
> 
> Again, these characters are not the same ones that are in MIT; my goal is to make them distinct in this universe, but still recognizable at the core of each personality. Only time will tell if I succeed. I opted to start in medias res, in the middle of ME2, because I really don't want another epic length story to keep up with. Not sure how long this one will wind up being or an update schedule, because completing MIT remains my primary goal.


End file.
